


You Gotta Live My Life to Get Boots Like These

by gin_and_ashes



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-24
Updated: 2010-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_and_ashes/pseuds/gin_and_ashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are all sorts of perils that accompany a life on the TARDIS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Gotta Live My Life to Get Boots Like These

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lillibet's [Jiggery Pokery...is love Ficathon](http://lillibetm3.livejournal.com/165571.html) at Livejournal. The prompt, by ninthraven, was "The Doctor's boots." They're in there...somewhere. The title comes from the song "Boots Like These," by Ben Harper.
> 
> Thanks as always to jlrpuck for her wonderful work as beta.

It wasn't that Rose minded running for their lives (though she would, if pressed, admit that she could have done with a bit less of it), it was that the running was so often done over less-than-ideal terrain. Rarely did they get to sprint away from genocidal madmen across a nice, smooth tarmac, or even a neatly trimmed lawn. No, generally their escapes were made through foetid swamps, across rickety, neglected suspension bridges spanning gaping chasms, or--as at present--over treacherously narrow mountain passes.

Rose was picking her way across an outcropping of rock with the Doctor behind her and an enraged, freshly-deposed despot and the remains of his army gaining on them. The rock beneath her feet was flaky and smooth, and--not for the first time--she lost her footing, sliding down the mountain's face. Frantically, she scrabbled at the crumbling shale in a futile attempt to stop her slide, her fingers bleeding with the effort. Her jumper snagged on a jagged bit of stone. The cold mountain air rushed in through the newly-opened hole, and she swore. Her descent was halted abruptly by a pair of hands pressing firmly against her bum. For a moment she froze, picturing exactly what the Doctor was seeing at that moment--never mind what he was touching.

The awkward silence was quickly broken by the bark of their pursuer's hounds. The Doctor shoved her up and away from him, giving her the boost she needed to regain her momentum and cross over to more solid ground. Any embarrassment she might have felt was forgotten as she looked back over her shoulder and saw one of the beasts quite literally nipping at the Doctor's heels. He kicked at it, not connecting, but coming close enough to make the animal shrink back, whimpering. It bought the Doctor just enough time to pull himself up, joining Rose on the ridge that overlooked the mountainside. Their enemies had not given up the chase, and if she and the Doctor didn't make it to the TARDIS soon, they'd be lucky to only end up imprisoned again.

Rose was doubled over, gasping for breath. "Nearly there," she panted.

"They're coming too fast," the Doctor countered. "We'll never make it. We need to stop them or slow them down somehow."

Rose scanned their surroundings with a frantic eye. There was nothing there to help them--nothing but piles of the smooth, crumbly stone that made up so much of the planet's surface. It seemed like the best they could hope for would be that the angry warriors would slip and fall down the mountain as she'd almost done.

An idea took hold. The rock was smooth and had given way easily under her feet, one polished flake skating over another like so many sheets of ice. Just a few stones out of place and she'd completely lost her purchase. On a large scale…

"What about a rockslide?" she suggested.

"A what?"

Rose nodded her head at the heaps of stone that surrounded them. "If we shove this down at them, maybe it'll--"

"--start a chain reaction, yes! Fantastic!"

The Doctor ran to the nearest pile and began heaving the stone in great scoops over the side of the rise. Rose raced to join him, getting on her knees behind a pile of rock and pushing and shoving at it until it began to spill down the mountainside. At first it was just a trickle, the rocks skittering down the mountain a few at a time. But gradually more were dislodged, either knocked free or shaken loose, and soon that trickle of pebbles turned into a cascade of stone.

The hounds were first to fall, their paws unable to keep up with the terrain as it shifted and slid beneath them. The soldiers, unable to halt in time and weighed down by their massive armour, either tripped over the foundering animals or themselves lost their footing under the disintegrating rock. The once-threatening legion dissolved into a confused, ungainly heap; Rose and the Doctor were safe.

Jubilant at their victory, Rose cheered and leaped into the air, landing on a piece of shale the size of a dinner plate. It skidded out from under her feet and shot to her right; Rose fell to her left, hearing as she toppled over the sickening 'pop' of her ankle bones breaking. Blinding pain tore through her. She screamed; her world went white, then black as, overwhelmed by the agony, she lost consciousness.

When she came to, she was lying on an exam table in the TARDIS infirmary. She tried to sit up, but the room spun around her and made her dizzy. Fearing she might topple onto the floor, she let herself slump back down into the pillow.

"Doctor?" she called. She'd tried to shout, but suspected her voice barely rose above a whisper. Even so, he was at her side almost instantly.

"Easy now," he said, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Not time for you to be up and about yet. Need to let the reossifier do its work."

" 'm woozy."

"I bet you are. I gave you a powerful sedative. Trust you to be up in spite of that."

She felt his fingers stroke gently over her arm, and gave an unsteady smile. "Can't keep me down for long."

"Don't I know it." His mouth twitched, like he was trying to hide a grin. "But you need to stay still for a while longer."

"How long?"

"About six more hours."

" _Six_?" she protested. "Ow! Don't pinch me."

"Sorry."

"Six _hours_?"

"Takes a while to repair bone, Rose."

"Apparently." She frowned. "Six hours sitting still, I'm gonna go spare."

"Nah. Why don't you sleep a little more, hmm? We had a long day of regime toppling, and I'm sure you could use the rest. How about it? Just close those eyes…"

The Doctor was right--she was tired. So tired, in fact, that she could barely keep her eyes open. A strange warmth was travelling up her arm and past her shoulder. It was pleasant and soothing...and wrong.

"Don'...wanna…"

"Sure you do. Think of how nice it'll be to just rest. Let those heavy eyelids drift shut...that's right. Let your breathing even out, feel your muscles relax…"

His voice was fading--was he leaving? Her eyes refused to open; blindly, she reached out, grabbing a handful of leather. "Don' go," she slurred.

"Don't you worry," he answered quietly. "I'll be right here."

As she drifted, Rose began to dream of cool fingers brushing over her face, smoothing her hair back and drifting down along her cheek. The fingers became stones; she was back on the mountainside, the ice-cold rock scraping over her skin as she lost her grip and fell. Down the cliff face she tumbled, past the Doctor, who reached for but could not grasp her outstretched hand. Instead he screamed her name, holding on for dear life as he watched her fall and fall away from him, his ancient eyes full of terror and despair.

She awoke with a gasp, sucking in a great lungful of air and sitting bolt upright. The Doctor lunged for her, settling his hands firmly on her shoulders and holding her in place.

"Easy," he urged. "Your ankle's only just healed; it's still a bit weak yet. Don't want to go snapping it again."

Rose winced at the memory, then glared at the Doctor. "You drugged me. _Twice_."

"I did."

"Why?"

"You were in incredible pain, Rose. Your ankle…" He paused, slumping down onto a stool next to where Rose lay. His eyes closed; his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. Rose tried not to stare.

He opened his eyes and continued. "Well. Let's just say it was a very bad break."

"How bad?"

He frowned; a shadow passed over his face. "On Earth? With the best doctors? It'd still be full of pins and screws. A bunch of hardware holding your leg together and a lifetime of discomfort, if not outright pain. And no more running," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"But you're better than that, I take it?" Rose asked, a challenge in her voice and a smile on her lips.

" 'You're better than that?' she asks," he scoffed. "I'm not called the Doctor for nothing, you know."

"Why _are_ you--"

He stood and walked down to stand next to her once-injured leg, smiling smugly. "What we have here," he said, before she could finish her question, "is the best--the absolute top-of-the-line--reossifier in the entire universe. The orthopaedists of the 51st century have a bounty on my head because with this one little machine, I made them obsolete. These things are like hair dryers there--everyone has one. Go skiing and break an arm? Order one up to your room with your supper, go to bed with it on and you're ready for the slopes by morning."

Rose glanced down at her leg, which sat under what looked, for all the world, like an old microfiche camera. Her jeans--her favourite pair, no less--had been cut open to her knee, and her trainers and socks were gone. There was no point in chastising him over her destroyed clothes; she'd seen enough episodes of _Casualty_ to know he'd had to. Still, the trainers had been brand new.

She sighed. It was impossible to be cross with him, really. He'd obviously had to carry her back to the TARDIS while she was either unconscious or insensate with pain. He'd had to act quickly to determine the extent of her injuries without her able to tell him, and then he'd repaired her broken bones while she slept. She maybe would've preferred to have been told about the sedation--at least the second time--but six hours of painless sleep was probably preferable to six hours of sitting still and feeling her bones knit themselves back together. Even if she'd had nightmares.

"Look, I get it, and I am grateful," she said. "Just maybe give me a bit of a choice next time?"

"I'd rather there not be a 'next time,' " he shot back.

"Well, me too, but come on, let's be realistic here." She flashed him her widest, most winning smile. "So, Doctor. Will I ever dance the tango again?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes, but she could see him relax. "It's going to be a few days before we see any _golpes_ from you, I'm afraid."

"And here I was hoping we could go to Madrid."

He shot a disapproving sideways glance at her. "The tango's from Argentina, Rose."

"Buenos Aires, then?"

"Not today." He turned away from her, disconnecting the reossifier and wheeling it back to its cupboard.

Rose shrugged. "Oh, well." She swung her legs over the side of the table and made to hop down. Alarmed, the Doctor turned toward her and extended a warning hand.

"Rose, I wouldn't--"

"Ah!"

A sharp stab of pain shot through her leg the moment she put weight on it. It was nothing like what she'd felt when her ankle had broken, but it was bad enough that she paled and began to sweat. With shaking arms, she hoisted herself back onto the table and drew her legs up.

"Your bones have only just healed. The surrounding tissue is going to be tender for a while yet."

" _Now_ you tell me."

"No, I told you before. You just didn't listen."

"Well, what am I supposed to do? I can't sit up here any longer, Doctor. It's been at least a day since I've had a shower, and I need the loo."

"Ah."

Was he flustered? The man could stare down a tyrant without flinching, but mention a lavatory and he didn't know what to do with himself.

"You don't have to come in with me, but can you at least help me get there?" she asked, exasperated.

"What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course I can. Just--" he scurried over to her, sliding an arm around her back. "Lean on me a bit and ease your weight onto it, like so."

Slowly, deliberately, the Doctor helped Rose climb down from the table. Her muscles tensed, preparing for the inevitable pain of walking on her injured leg. The close attention he paid to her every motion made her even more nervous. His eyes scanned her face, searching, she supposed, for even the slightest sign of discomfort. It was meant, she assumed, to be reassuring; she didn't have the heart to hell him how unnerving it was. The press of his body close against hers was another matter entirely, one she didn't dare dwell on.

Her first step, when she took it, was painful, but not quite as bad as she'd expected or feared. It stung, though; she sucked in a sharp breath, then held it for a few steps before exhaling with a hiss.

"You sure you're all right?" the Doctor asked. His brow was as deeply furrowed as she'd ever seen. His frown lines ran in deep, parallel lines across this forehead, from his eyebrows straight up to his hairline.

"I'm fine," she said, through clenched teeth. She wasn't, not really, but the need for a lavatory and her determination not to use a bedpan were stronger than the pain. "It's just a bit...tender, 's'all."

"Right."

Their gazes met. In his expression, Rose saw genuine concern coupled with a willingness to accept her fiction rather than make her feel even more helpless. Together they hobbled across the room to a door the TARDIS had helpfully provided. She didn't even need to check to know it was a bathroom, shower and all. The Doctor reached around her and opened the door. Rose laughed when she looked in; a robe and towel were hanging on the shower door. The TARDIS had even placed a tall stool inside the shower stall for her to sit on while she washed.

"Oh, you are a dear girl," Rose said, stroking a hand along the bulkhead. "Best girlfriend I could ever ask for."

She and the Doctor stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. "Think I can manage from here," Rose said wryly. "Unless you think you should hold me up during my shower, too."

"Ah, no, I...er, that is, you've got a--you'll be fine, I'm sure. I'll just be...I'll...bye."

He withdrew his arm from her back abruptly, not leaving her alone so much as fleeing. Rose held back her laughter as best she could. Really, though, he was almost too easy to wind up.

It was only a few steps into the bathroom, but they were awkward ones. She used the loo, then made her way to the shower, turned it on, and undressed. Her jumper was torn and dirty, her jeans ruined. She stripped them off and cast them aside like the rubbish they'd been reduced to, then removed her underthings, which thankfully had been spared. The shower, when she stepped into it, was gorgeously hot. It had been--how long since she'd had a proper wash? At least two days, maybe more. She'd woken feeling sweaty and grotty; the dirt alone made her feel out of sorts, to say nothing of the pain and the hangover from the sedative.

Perched delicately on the stool, scrubbing and lathering with vigour, Rose felt her good mood begin to return. Her eyes closed and she let her head fall forward, feeling the near-scalding water beat down on her neck and shoulders. It ran in rivulets down her back like delta branches, carrying away days of dirt and sweat, the damp mouldering rot of the dungeon she'd been imprisoned in, and the filth she'd crawled through to lead the other prisoners to freedom.

The Doctor had been in the middle of one of his characteristic last-stand speeches when, ragtag army in tow, she'd found him at last. The sight of him--coupled with the look of relief and pride on his face when he'd spied her--had nearly made her weep. She'd only smiled, though, and laughed a little at the absurdity--how _did_ they manage to end up like this, time and again? But then came the shouting and the swell of former captives rising up as one against their oppressors, and really, the midst of a slave revolt was never time for a reunion, no matter what the movies would have people believe. So, hand in hand, they'd legged it, heading for the hills.

Which was an unfortunate thing to call it, she supposed, considering. She gave her ankle an experimental flex; it was still very sore, but the pain was ebbing. The discomfort was still extraordinary, but maybe with a little Paracetamol she could get around without too much trouble. That, she thought with a laugh, or she'd insist the Doctor carry her piggyback until she was better.

Rose turned off the taps and opened the shower door a crack, fumbling briefly for the towel. She dried herself off, slipped on the dressing gown and wound the towel around her hair, then made her way to the door, her steps more confident, if still a bit shaky. When she opened the door into the infirmary, Rose found the Doctor making a great show of putting things in order. She smiled to herself and adjusted the towel on her head.

"Sorry to have been such a bother."

"Used to it by now," he snorted.

That stung. "Right, well, maybe next time you should leave me behind, if I get in the way so much."

"If I thought you'd stay put, I might."

She glared at his back and spun on her heel to leave--which was a mistake. A spasm of pain shot through her ankle; she started to crumple, then straightened, nearly biting through her lip with the effort. Her hand shot out, clutching at a nearby countertop for support. When the pain had passed, she exhaled in a great puff. She slid her hand forward along the counter and pulled herself a step closer to the door.

The Doctor hadn't moved. "You going to let me help you or not?" he asked, back still to her.

Rose gritted her teeth. "Not."

"Don't be an idiot."

"Don't be a prat."

"Rose…"

"I am going to my room," she said, as haughtily as she could manage, what with being barefoot in a fluffy dressing gown and a terrycloth turban listing to one side of her head. "Good night."

With that, she limped out of the infirmary and down the corridor to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her in a satisfying fit of pique. The towel finally slipped from her head; she caught it and tossed it onto her bed, then yanked at the tie on her dressing gown, letting it pool around her feet while she searched for a suitable pair of pyjamas in her bureau. She frowned at the collection of nightclothes there. They were all bright, cheery, even frivolous, and none of them suited her mood.

Rose changed into the most sedate pair she could find--navy, with white stars--and sat on her bed, towel-drying her hair with an almost vindictive persistence. When that failed to mollify her, she dropped the towel on the floor and flopped back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. She didn't want to sleep, and she didn't want to hide out in her room for hours, either. Sighing, she climbed out of bed, wincing slightly at the pain in her leg, and--after slipping her feet into a pair of ridiculously fluffy bedroom slippers, shuffled to her door and down the corridor to the library. Maybe she'd find something to read, or perhaps watch a movie.

The Doctor was of course there already, sitting in the wingback chair by the fire and reading a book so absurdly large she wasn't sure how his arms could support it. Rose breezed in as casually as she could given her injury (and her slippers), strolling over to one of the larger bookshelves and perusing it without so much as acknowledging the Doctor's presence.

"Thought you were going to bed," he said, after a minute or two of strained silence.

"Yeah, well, funny thing: Turns out that since someone put me into a drug-induced stupor for six hours, I'm not very sleepy."

"Only six? You usually sleep for ten or more."

"Doctor…" she warned.

"It was for your own good."

Rose snapped. "I'm not a _child_."

"Says the girl in the penguin slippers."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not. You say you're not a child, but you dress like one, you behave like one--"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know there was a dress code on the TARDIS. I suppose I should wear the same boring thing every day, like you do. Would that make me an adult? Would you let me make my own choices then?"

"What is this about?"

"You treat me like I'm an inconvenience! You destroy my clothes, drug me without even telling me--why I don't know, to keep me quiet I suppose--then you tell me I'm a bother and you should just leave me behind."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh no? Then how did you mean it?"

"Not--like that."

"Thanks, that's very helpful."

The Doctor sighed and closed his book. "I don't think you're a bother, Rose. And I don't want to leave you behind. Not most of the time, anyway."

"Ta very much."

"And if I do, it's because of days like today. You got yourself thrown in a dungeon--"

"Well, it was my turn this week, last two times it was you. Can't let you have all the fun, now, can I?"

"Very funny."

"I try."

"Try harder. You treat it like a joke--I treat it like a joke--but truth is it's no laughing matter. That bloke we deposed was a nasty piece of work. He'd have had you executed, sure as I'm sitting here."

"But we did depose him," Rose pointed out.

"This time, yeah. But what about next time?"

"So, what? We stop? Stay in the vortex all the time? Only travel to garden planets?"

"Of course not."

"We're going to get in trouble, Doctor. We're going to _make_ trouble, if it's deserved. And we'll come out all right in the end."

"You're too confident."

"And you've gone timid all of a sudden. This isn't like you."

"Know me so well, do you?"

Rose's chin jutted defiantly. "Yeah, I do." He huffed. "Better than you think." She turned back to the bookcase, grimacing at the pain as her ankle turned.

"Still hurt?"

There was no point in denying it. "A bit."

The Doctor put his book aside and stood, gesturing to the sofa. "Sit over there and let me have a look at it."

Rose merely stared at him, arms folded, eyebrows raised.

He sighed. "Please?"

"That's better." Rose crossed the room and sat at one end of the sofa, with her legs stretched out before her. The Doctor sat at the other end, lifting her feet up to make room for himself, then setting them in his lap. He pushed Rose's pyjama leg up to the middle of her calf and began examining her ankle.

"No real bruising, that's good," he said, lifting her foot in both hands. He flexed it, pulling gently but firmly on the heel. "How's that?"

"Not...too bad," Rose said. He nodded, then went back to work.

"It's your own fault, you know," he said while he rotated her ankle.

"My fault? H.. _ow_!"

"That hurts?" he repeated the action; Rose saw stars.

"Yes," she ground out, practically clawing at the arm of the sofa. "A lot."

"Hmmm."

He rested her foot back in his lap and began to massage it, gently kneading it and her ankle with his fingers. The pain began to ease almost immediately, only to be replaced by other, more discomfiting feelings that she most certainly did not want to discuss with him.

Neither, though, did she want him to stop.

"So how’s this my fault, again?" she asked, telling herself that she wasn't trying to distract him, but rather that she was genuinely curious.

"What's that?" he replied, absently.

"You said this was all my fault. What'd you mean?"

"Oh, that. It's your shoes."

"My _shoes_?"

"Those trainers. Completely unsuitable."

Rose shook her head in disbelief. "Wait, what?"

"Smooth soles, no arch to speak of. No traction at all, no ankle support, and they're bright white, to boot. They're like a beacon to anyone chasing us."

"And your manky old boots are better."

"Much." He raised one of his feet. "Look at those treads. Even if I didn't have superior balance and coordination--which I do--you're not going to see any slipping and sliding in these beauties. Plus, they have fantastic ankle support, so in the extremely unlikely event that I should lose my footing, my bones will remain perfectly intact. No broken or twisted ankles to leave me helpless as a blonde in a horror movie."

"Oi!"

She kicked at him. Laughing, he held her leg fast, one hand on her foot, the other gripping her bare calf. The grin faded from his face as they stared silently at each other. Rose swallowed, hard; the Doctor's gaze shifted to her lips, then back to her eyes. Neither moved.

The Doctor had explained to Rose once how he saw timelines; how they wove together, crossing and diverging; how one event could trigger any one of a dozen or more outcomes and how those timelines were always in flux, with anything and everything resting on the simplest decision. She hadn't quite understood it at the time, even when he'd drawn it for her on a bit of paper. But now, she felt it.

His hand was on her leg. Not out of necessity, not to check for injury or pull her back from a precipice, but because they'd been--dare she think it?--flirting. His hand was on her leg and it wasn't moving, was still there even after he realised it, and that meant so many amazing and terrifying things. Any one of a dozen or more things could happen next, and she didn't know which it would be, but she could see them. She could see them all with perfect clarity, from him dropping her leg (and the subject) without a word, to--oh--to his hand slowly gliding up her leg, his fingers caressing her skin, leaning in as he raised his body up to cover hers, his eyes smiling as their lips finally, _finally_ met and... _no_.

It wasn't time. Not yet. Rose didn't quite understand how she knew this, and a part of her didn't want to believe it, but know it she did. She couldn't see the timelines, not really, not the way he did, but she knew that when he kissed her-- _if_ he kissed her--it wasn't going to be because they got caught up in a moment, or out of relief because she'd been hurt or imprisoned or almost killed yet again. No, if he ever kissed her, it had to be because he could do nothing else _but_ kiss her. There could be no chance for misunderstanding, no saying he hadn't meant to, none of that. Her heart wouldn't be able to recover, otherwise.

Yet even with this certainly, her heart was pounding, watching him watch her, wondering if he'd come to the same conclusion and fearing what would happen if he didn't. Slowly, she saw understanding fill his eyes. And while he never broke her gaze, he did slide his hand slowly--maybe even reluctantly--down from her calf to her foot, then away from her entirely. Her breath caught when he reached for her once more, but he merely pulled her trouser leg down, then lifted her feet from his lap and made to stand.

Nothing was going to happen, not that night. But that didn't mean she wanted him to leave.

"You going?" she asked, not bothering to mask her disappointment.

"We're done here, aren't we?" Was there a note of regret in his voice, or did she imagine it?

"Yeah, I guess. I just thought--"

"You thought what?" He fixed her with a look, blue eyes searching her brown ones, though for what she wasn't certain.

"Well, it's just that I've got to sit still for hours, and I'm not tired, and…"

"And?"

Now his tone was guarded, even afraid. Quickly she sought to reassure him.

"I dunno, I thought we could watch a movie or something."

"Eh…" His expression faltered--she couldn't tell if he was relieved or dismayed--before he schooled his features into a veneer of nonchalance. "The lateral displacement coil's been a bit wonky lately, thought I'd give it a look."

"Yeah, okay." Her face fell. "See ya. I'll just be here, then."

"It's an important part," he explained. "If it goes, we could end up who knows where." Yet he made no move to get up.

"Oh, right, well, you should get on that, then."

"Yeah."

"...yeah."

Still he remained. Rose worried her thumbnail with her teeth.

"Of course--"

"Yeah?"

"It's an easy fix, really. A snap. I don't have to get to it this _second_."

"I don't want to keep you, though. If it's important." The smile that was spreading across her features belied her words.

"And to be honest...we end up who knows where half the time no matter what I do."

Her smile widened. "That's half the fun of it, though."

"I suppose one movie wouldn't hurt. Provided it's not one of those terrible romances you love. How you can watch that drivel--"

"I was thinking murder mystery, actually. You can solve it in the first five minutes and be all smug about it later."

The Doctor settled back into the sofa, eyes twinkling. "Rose Tyler, I like the way you think."


End file.
